It Takes Two
by Jett
Summary: AU. Crossover: Supernatural, Smallville. Sam Winchester, Clark Kent and a demon. Also, if slash isn't your cuppa, please to move on. For those who feel there isn't enough Sam & Clark fic, because well, there isn't. *grins*
1. Chapter 1

**It Takes Two****  
Author:** Jett**  
Fandom(s)**: Supernatural/Smallville (crossover)  
**Rating**: Currently T (moving to M)  
**Pairing**: Sam Winchester/Clark Kent - which means SLASH  
**Spoilers**: All aired eps of Supernatural and Smallville (just in case).  
**Feedback:**If you'd be kind enough.  
**Notes**: Because there isn't enough Sam/Clark out there. Also, if slash is not your cuppa, please to be moving on. Thank you.

**It Takes Two**  
by Jett

Sam doesn't understand. There're a lot of things he doesn't understand these days: he's working with a demon, his brother has less than a year to live, a good chunk of hell's broken loose. He gets the why (desperation, stupidity, sloppiness, in that order), but he still doesn't understand. _That_ he can handle because we're talking deeper philosophical issues and all. Right now though, he's concerned with the immediate mystery. Hell, even Dean'd get Sam's inability to wrap his brain around being tossed from the penthouse of a high-rise - and walking away.

The trail leads Sam straight to the demon he's tracking. Sam sneaks into the penthouse, exorcism ritual on the tip of his tongue after Dean's inadvertent fuck-up with Casey. The Colt's in the right pocket of his jacket in case it comes to that. He knows he has to work quick and plans to trap the demon or kill it before another virgin winds up splayed, insides unappealingly on the outside. And he's got it all under control until the virgin pulls a Buffy, surprising the demon and leading it right to Sam.

Buffy making a break for it is good, Sam knows it's good, but he wonders just how bad it's gonna be for him since Buffy plows into him in the middle of laying down the devil's trap. Plus, she manages to knock the Colt from Sam's pocket. The demon doesn't seem angry about the intrusion. As a matter of fact, the fucker looks amused, laughing as he Buffy literally backflips her way from the scene to safety.

See something new every day.

The demon doesn't go after Buffy. Instead, he circles Sam, edging him toward the balcony. Great. There's no way for Sam to stop him because the devil's trap's half a circle with no writing, which means no amount of Latin on the planet's gonna save him.

The demon watches as Sam backs into the balcony railing, shows his teeth and says with a Crest-white smile "Jump."

And this time, Sam laughs. Andy tried that shit, it didn't work then, it ain't working now, even with a full-on demon trying to get him to do something stupid. "Don't you know who I am?" says Sam, not because he's trying to prove a point but because he's stalling. Maybe he'll come up with a plan - or at least figure out how to get himself from between the demon and 96 floors to the door.

"Sam Winchester I presume?" More teeth. Demons sure like to smile. It's something Sam's notes over the course of time. The Yellow Eyed Demon smiled like a preacher full of the gospel. This one's no different, 'cept there's no Colt since Sam dropped it. Fuck, hell and shit.

The demon blinks like he's considering Sam's importance. Then, thinking stops. The demon moves like lightning, taking Sam in his arms and hurls him off the balcony.

It's not the end Sam imagined. What also isn't on the list of what he expected on his way to dying is the dark haired man Sam sees _jump_ from the balcony, and, in absolute defiance of the laws of physics, point himself _toward_Sam. Sam doesn't make out much before things go dark. He's not sure why. Maybe he gets hit on the head? He doesn't know, but before the world goes to nothing, he swears the dude takes him in his arms like the damsel in distress Sam left Buffy turn him into.

Then, Sam wakes up, cheek planted on the sidewalk, very much not dead, with a headache that beats the worse hangover throbbing he ever felt.


	2. Chapter 2

**It Takes Two  
Author:** Jett  
**Fandom(s)**: Supernatural/Smallville (crossover)  
**Rating**: Currently T (moving to M)  
**Pairing**: Sam Winchester/Clark Kent - which means SLASH  
**Spoilers**: All aired eps of Supernatural and Smallville (just in case).  
**Feedback:**If you'd be kind enough.  
**Notes**: Because there isn't enough Sam/Clark out there. Also, if slash is not your cuppa, please to be moving on. Thank you.

**It Takes Two - Chapter 2**  
by Jett

Sam pushes up. He manages to get his face and torso off the concrete. The street does a small wobble, and Sam waits until his vision clears before he tries to stand. Brushing street remains from his pants, he turns back to the building. He's back in work mode; the other weirdness can wait. Which means there's one thing on his mind: he has to get the Colt.

* * *

The demon isn't stupid. Arrogant and depraved, yes, but when Sam gets to the penthouse, there's no sign of him. Sam knows the demon, knows him well enough to guess he's probably out looking for another victim. Sam knows the demon won't stop till he's stopped, and if Sam has to do it all by his lonesome, so be it. 

Sam sees the Colt right where it fell. He picks up the weapon. He tucks the Colt into the back of his waistband, and that's when he hears it: there's someone else in the apartment. Maybe the demon's no so smart after all. Sam moves toward the sound.

The Colt's out and at the ready as Sam navigates first one room, then another. He almost loses the gun a second time when he sees him. "You?!"

The dark-haired maybe-flies man stares him dead in the face, green eyes open, innocent.

Forearm up, Sam slams him into the wall.

Sam presses his arm harder against Maybe-Flies' throat. He points the Colt at his temple. "Who are you?" Sam's voice is all bass. It's something he learned while hunting. If you want someone (or _something_) to pay attention, your voice has to rumble like you mean it.

Instead of cowering, his savior looks amused.

Sam considers. It's an odd reaction to someone's arm on your neck and an odder reaction still to a gun poised to end you. "I'm not gonna wait all day!"

Maybe-Flies coughs. "You're making me nervous," he says finally.

He doesn't sound nervous to Sam. At. All. "I'm... I'm..." Sam can't finish the sentence. He's heard a lot of crazy things in his life, but this is going right on the Top Ten list. Maybe-Flies isn't trying to get away. Which means... Sam isn't sure.

Sam regards him for a moment, then lowers the gun. He's seen a lot a demons, but he's never see one who saved people Saran wrapped in a blue t-shirt like this guy. Yeah, there's a red jacket and jeans, but: 1. the color's a poor choice for a mayhem maker; that shirt isn't hiding anything. Somebody's definitely been hitting the gym. _Hard_. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

"My name is Clark Kent." Clark steps away from the wall and moves to more open territory. "I was just passing by and I heard screams."

"BULLSHIT!" says Sam because yeah, the meter nearly broke on that one (although the vehemence level is higher than Sam intends).

Sam levels the gun.

Clark's finger is up instantly. It goes to the gun barrel and pushes it gently in a non-threatening direction. "I had a hunch," says Clark tentatively.

"A hunch?" Clark's a clumsy dancer, and Sam's not in the mood. Still, he's not sure why, but he trusts him. The trust makes Sam both uncomfortable and comforted. It's like he isn't in control, but it's okay. Sort of.

The instant trust makes Sam wonder who - _what_ - he's dealing with. "It's a good thing," says Sam, playing along. "I came too close to being a stain and a headline."

Sam's about to walk away when he does indeed walk away. Three long strides and he's halfway across the room. He's wasted enough time. He has to find the demon. Still... There's something about Clark.

Sam doesn't look back. "I need to know," he says, walking to the door. "What you are. Why you were here, and how you did it."

"Did what?"

Sam shakes his head. More innocence. More bullshit. "Flew," says Sam.

"People don't fly."

"Maybe you're not people." With that, Sam's back on the job.


	3. Chapter 3

**It Takes Two**  
**Author:** Jett  
**Fandom(s)**: Supernatural/Smallville (crossover)  
**Rating**: Currently T (moving to M)  
**Pairing**: Sam Winchester/Clark Kent - which means SLASH  
**Spoilers**: All aired eps of Supernatural and Smallville (just in case).  
**Feedback:** Reviews are great! They help feed the muse. :)  
**Notes**: I started this because there isn't enough Sam/Clark out there. Also, fair warning: if slash is not your cuppa, please to be moving on.

**It Takes Two - Chapter 3**  
by Jett

Sam tracks the demon to a bar. Or bar/restaurant – if a place called "Trailer Park" – complete with hula girl lamps and console TVs playing "Plan 9 from Outer Space" - can be considered a restaurant. As he strategizes, Sam idly considers the numerous drive-in signs and soda placards, noting the sheer volume of Americana on display should've caused some kind of structural implosion. The place isn't upscale like the demon's usual haunts, but it does have a wanna-be-wholesome-fun vibe about it. Maybe "wholesome fun" is why the demon's here. A demon who lives in a penthouse generally doesn't slum ("Dem's the rules," as Dean'd say), but tonight's definitely been made for rule breaking. Sam figures the demon moved onto the first hunting ground where he could find what he was looking for.

Sam's guess proves spot-on.

Near the front of the bar, the demon's chatting up a pretty girl who gets carded – and blushes when the demon whispers something into her ear. Sam moves closer to the table. It takes a minute for his eyes to register the familiar shape (because Sam would swear he wasn't there a second ago): Clark's here too. Sam watches as Clark steps closer to the demon. He knows he can't get across the room fast enough, so instead, he yells, "Clark, no!"

Clark spins in the direction of Sam's voice, and that's all it takes. The demon has Clark by the throat.

Sam's close enough to hear Clark tell the girl to leave. She's not the only one. "Get out!" shouts Sam, waving the gun. Bodies spill from the restaurant immediately – we're talking instantaneous empty except for the three of them.

Sam watches Clark struggle. He holds the gun high, lines the shot up. San also watches Clark simply put up a hand as if to push the demon away, continues watching as the demon goes sailing across the room and over the bar.

Sam idly notes no human being is capable of moving something that's over six feet tall and weighs in excess of two-hundred pounds with no more effort than it takes to hurl a paper airplane.

The Colt's still up and at the ready, but Clark gets in the way as the demon stands up, grinning a grin that's a little bit amusement and a whole lot of malice. "I take it you're not exactly from around here," says the demon. Sam catches Clark's reflection in the mirror. Clark smiles slightly – and there's an amber glow in Clark's eyes. Spilled alcohol ignites.

The demon's instantly ablaze.

The demon removes his jacket, slamming into the bar as he smashes his way through, grabbing Clark once more. "Well, then, just so you know, neither am I." The demon tosses Clark across the room. Clark slams through the front window, taking tables and plate glass with him.

Sam reacts straightaway, adjusting his stance as he lines up the shot and takes it. He misses the demon, but the demon doesn't miss him. Sam measures the demon's response time. He's on Sam faster than his heart can pulse. The demon grabs Sam by the collar, tosses him out onto the sidewalk. Sam lands brutally and rolls, the agony of the concrete bodyplant utterly matched by the embarrassment of bowling into Clark.

At least he still has the Colt.

Sam's getting his bearings when he realizes Clark's no longer on the sidewalk. He sees Clark standing by the hole in the building where the window used to be. "Clark, you need to let me handle this."

Clark looks like he's about to say something, but doesn't - just sort of shakes his head as though he doesn't have the time or the patience – and vanishes.

Sam's on his feet, eyes searching for Clark but drawn to and trained on the demon, all silhouette, rimmed by fire as the demon kicks through what's left of the front window. Clark's arm comes out of nowhere, spearing into the flames. Sam sees all of him now as Clark grabs the demon and slams it into the brick wall. Sam watches as mortar and brick crumble, leaving dust on Clark's hands and the demon's shoulders. "Clark! There's only one way to do this." Sam raises the gun. "Get out of the way!"

"I'm not letting him go," says Clark, holding tight. The demon wriggles, but can't seem to free itself. "If you need to shoot, do it now or –"

The Colt goes off with a rumble-crack; the smell of gunpowder fills the air. The demon squirms enough so the first shot glances off and clips Clark in the shoulder. Clark winces but seems to tighten his grip as Sam fires another shot. This time, the bullet impacts the demon's head dead center. This time, the bullet does what it was meant to do. A familiar blue light arc sparks, the demon shudders a nearly-dead thing's jig and collapses.

Eventually Clark turns the demon loose. "What just happened?"

"I killed a demon. With your help. Although, I'm still a little fuzzy as to how. The last person I saw that strong had a little demon in him. And he killed me."

Clark's staring at him, and Sam can feel the heat of his gaze as Clark's green eyes probe. Sam catches the small posture change in Clark that probably signals he believes what Sam's said. Then Clark speaks. "You look pretty good for a dead guy." There's a grin on Clark's face, and his eyes shine with a look Sam recognizes as "More information, please."

"Yeah, well, my brother's ripe with stupid." Sam shifts gears, trying to get Dean and the deal out of his mind. "You don't seem surprised. You tell the average guy a story about demons and resurrections, and they either back away slowly or run. Why aren't you –"

"Backing or running? I could ask you the same thing. Given what you saw."

Instead, Sam steps closer, looking into Clark's eyes, seeking the truth about who Clark is, _what_ Clark is. There's openness, but truth isn't floating on the surface.

Sam repositions himself and checks Clark's wound. The bullet's still in there. "I'm thinking instead of running, the right thing to do is maybe buy you a beer and get that slug out."

Clark angles his head low to look. He moves his shoulder and contorts his face like he's feeling the worst pain in the history of the planet. "Any chance we could maybe reverse the order?"


	4. Chapter 4

**It Takes Two**  
**Author**: Jett  
**Fandom(s)**: Supernatural/Smallville (crossover)  
**Rating**: Currently T (moving to M)  
**Pairing**: Sam Winchester/Clark Kent - which means SLASH  
**Spoilers**: All aired eps of Supernatural and Smallville (just in case).  
**Feedback**: Reviews are great and make me feel warm and loved.  
**Notes**: We need more Sam/Clark, so here's my attempt. Also, if slash is not your cuppa, the back button is your friend.

**It Takes Two - Chapter 4**  
by Jett

The motel room is like every other motel room Sam and Dean've been to in the last few years. It's nothing spectacular yet oddly stylized. Maybe it's just the luck of the draw, but they somehow keep winding up in places that're a set designer's wet dream.

Dean's not coming back, not for a while. Sam deconstructs the voice mail message. Dean being "cheery." Dean being Dean. Dean being an (unintentional) asshole. Sam wants to be angry, but he's got other things to do.

"Sit down," says Sam, indicating the chair by the desk by the window, and Clark does. Sam reaches into his pants and removes the pocketknife. The blade flicks into view with a button push. "Pass me that lighter," Sam tosses his head vaguely in the direction of the Bic. Clark looks at Sam, head slightly tilted, waiting. "Please," says Sam, and Clark does.

Sam heats the blade, running the flame along the edge. He watches as the silver smokes and blackens.

"Is that really necessary?" For a man who faced down a demon empty handed, Clark 's eyes look weirdly fearful.

"It's called 'sterilization' and yes, it is. Unless infections aren't something you do."

Clark starts to say something, but Sam just wants to get this over with. He leans closer before dork words happen. "Breathe," says Sam as he angles himself over the wound. Clark inhales and exhales like a woman practicing Lamaze. It's enough to make Sam laugh, and he does.

"What?" asks Clark . The concern on his face is genuine.

"Nothing," says Sam. "you're doing fine. Just grip the arms of the chair." Sam pulls back enough to look Clark square in the eye when he says "This's probably gonna hurt."

Sam shifts. The knife moves. The splinter-crack of wood under Clark 's hands proves he was on the right page (paragraph and line) with the "hurt" statement. Then there's the grunt-moan thing that breaches air between Lamaze breaths that instantly makes Sam wonder what Clark sounds like in bed.

Sam twists the knife, and Clark moans a little more. He's seen women giving birth who're less frail than Clark seems. A final dig-twist and the bullet pops free, darting into the air. Sam catches the slug easily in his palm and plops it into the nearest ashtray.

Clark's staring at the slug as Sam rummages through Dean's stuff in hopes of unearthing the first-aid kit. Turns out Dean's got the kit hidden under a pile of skin mags. Sam doesn't want to think about that. Grabbing the antiseptic cream, Sam walks back to Clark , gauze bandage in hand as well. Clark 's still staring at the bullet. "You act like you've never seen one of those," Sam says, gently dabbing cream in the wound.

"I have. But not like that. It's... _different_."

"Oh, that is an understatement of near biblical proportions." Sam examines the wound. He hasn't done a bad job and he could do better, but Clark isn't Dean. He did as much as he felt comfortable, given Clark 's ridiculously low pain threshold. "You might need some stitches."

"No, it'll be fine," says Clark , eyes angled up at Sam.

Sam pulls back enough to see Clark's entire face as Clark stares up at him. He glimpses more than simple curiosity in Clark 's features. He can feel the heat again, and as sure as he was about the demon and what had to be done, he's as unsure about what to do with Clark here and now.

Sam can feel the pull, Clark 's gravity usurping Earth's own, as he drifts nearer. He can see Clark's lips as Clark lifts off the chair to meet him.

Sam's eyes are closed. Clark 's eyes are closed and –

There's nothing.

Sam coughs. Clark 's subsequent cough is like an echo.

"I think maybe –" starts Sam. "The bandage looks –" begins Clark.

Then, Clark 's up and out of the chair, and Sam's out of his way. They're there, standing, feet awkward, shuffling, not contact, and for a moment, Sam feels like he's looking in a mirror. He's staring at ability and refusal and uncertainty and denial and...

Sam's not sure who grabs who, but before he can say "Holy sh-" Clark's lips are on his (or maybe his lips are on Clark's?) with warmth and power and need, and Clark and Sam are tangled like a load of laundry, spinning around the room, as shirts and shoes and pants disappear beneath legs and arms and fingers.


	5. Chapter 5

**It Takes Two****  
Author**: Jett  
**Fandom(s)**: Supernatural/Smallville (crossover)  
**Rating**: M (language, situations)  
**Pairing**: Sam Winchester/Clark Kent - which means SLASH  
**Spoilers**: All aired eps of Supernatural and Smallville (just in case).  
**Feedback**: Reviews are great and make me feel warm and loved.  
**Notes**: For my Sam/Clark posse. _Mwah_.

Also, if slash is not your cuppa, the back button is your friend.

**It Takes Two** - Chapter 5  
by Jett

Sam pulls back, tongue and lips sliding over Clark's mouth, disruption, separation, detachment undesired. He feels energized yet breathless. Trepidation percolates up, spilling out, forcing Sam to move away out of necessity. He silently owns Clark's gravity has become a riptide, and Sam can't afford to be dragged under. The loss of heat, connection, makes him want it back, want it NOW, want it more, but Sam has to think - or pretend to think - because Clark isn't exactly normal. Dealing intimately with "not exactly normal" always, always, always comes back to sink teeth in Sam's ass.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," says Clark, breaking the silence and Sam looks at him, looks into those green eyes that make him feel like it's too late, like he's lead, under fifty feet of ocean.

Sam stands there, takes in the breadth and length of Clark's body, the hardness of it in every possible respect.

Clark isn't saying "No" in spite of what Clark's said.

"No," says Sam. But this "no" isn't "No, we shouldn't" either.

Sam slams Clark into the nearest hard surface, swears he hears the crack of gypsum board beneath Clark's body as Clark impacts the wall - and Sam doesn't care. The only thing that matters now as Sam gives into the current that is Clark.

Sam finds a spot behind Clark's ear and dips his nose into the crease. He roots behind Clark's ear, probing, and Clark shudders. Sam pauses where ear gives way to lobe. The tip of his nose touches Clark's earlobe lightly, and Clark squirms. Sam exhales. He inhales and Clark moans a little as Sam's nose moves from lobe to neck to nape. Clark doesn't smell like Sam expects. He inhales again, taking in notes of smoke and Ivory freshness in spite of the demon brawl. He loses himself there at the nape of Clark's neck, feeling Clark's hair as it brushes his cheek.

Sam shifts a final time before his tongue flicks out, returning to the juncture of ear and throat. From there, he travels to the middle of the side of Clark's neck, licking, tongue sliding downward with concentrated, deliberate intent. Clark pushes himself back, curling into the ruined wall as he responds. More drywall crumbles as Sam's lips take on the task. He sucks lightly, careful not to mark - it's not his style - although... he wonders if in spite of the bullet hole and given the lack of burns, if teeth could bruise Clark's skin.

Sam steps back again, this time, to survey territory. Clark's still a very large "c" in a very small space - and there's more damage to the wall than Sam thought. Sam steps up once more, lips touching Clark's as he kisses him. There's fervor on both sides, so much hunger between the two of them Sam thinks spontaneous combustion's a distinct possibility.

Sam drops his mouth to Clark's chin, licks a stripe in the dimple there, continues with lips and tongue down to Clark's chest. He picks a nipple, breathes, licks then breathes again. Sam delights as Clark whimpers, his face contorted prettily, the apparent joy of the experience etched in the curves of his mouth, the crinkles by his eyes. Clark's noisy and really easy to please, and right now, that makes Sam all kinds of happy.

Sam continues south, past Clark's navel, past the dark trail. Sam licks, tongue persuasive, dreamy. Clark gasps. Sam's tongue darts along and Clark begins to whimper. When Sam takes all of Clark into his mouth, Clark begins to writhe. Sam steadies him with a hand as he suctions rhythmically, slowly at first, and Clark's moans let him know to pick up the pace.

Sam sucks harder and faster, faster and harder, faster, faster, harder, harder until Clark moans wildly, shudders empty.

Sam stands, tongue tracing the edges of his lips as he licks. Clark's suddenly there, mashed against him, tongue at the ready, and he finishes what Sam started, tonguing the edge of Sam's mouth before pressing his lips deeply into Sam's. In that instant, Sam feels small, so impossibly small, and he bends into Clark, eager to share all there is to share. "Your turn," Clark says, his voice deep, hypnotically authoritative. Sam watches as Clark stoops and wraps those lips around him, those lips made for sucking, and that's precisely what Clark does.

Sam stumbles back slightly as Clark begins. Clark's doing something with his mouth and tongue Sam can't place, but he knows he likes it, he likes it a lot, and he shows his gratitude by moving his hips to match Clark's rhythm. And Clark stills him with three fingers and a palm, and sucks hard and soft and hard, cheeks hollowing like a professional's and holy fuck what the hell does he have in his mouth that makes Sam feel like this?

Sam wobbles a bit as the urge to release builds like a freight train without brakes - and Clark stops. "Wha -" says Sam, surprised and without more words to offer.

"I want you inside me," says Clark, as he stands, pivots and walks away, tapping his ass.

If the tapping and the walk and that ass aren't an engraved invitation, Sam isn't a Winchester. He's staring at it, taking it all in, that beautifully shaped, rounded - "Inside. Now," growls Clark.

Evidently, it's taking Sam too long. And Sam who always wants to do the right thing, does the thing that feels right. Instantly, he's behind Clark, grinding into muscled flesh. He's satisfied there, relishing the feeling, his flesh against Clark's tight, tight ass when -

"_Now_," orders Clark again with enough bass in his voice to make Sam believe he means it.

So, Clark likes it rough. Without lube, without prep, Sam shoves in, hands on either side of Clark's ass as he pushes.

Clark doesn't wince or scream. Instead, Sam gets more writhing and another rumbling moan as Clark splays his hands against the wall. Balancing, Clark releases one hand to guide Sam's hand as Sam thrusts into Clark. One hand grips Clark's ass, the other strokes Clark as Clark continues to direct him, and when Sam's spent, he swears he sees a rush of images - sun and stars and sky - and understands everything before limp darkness removes meaning. Seconds later, Clark finishes too.

Panting, Sam laughs a little, and Clark follows suit. He lowers his head onto Clark's shoulder and kisses it lightly before pulling away, directing himself to the shower. Lathering, he enjoys the flowing warmth of the water, and Sam's wandering mind drifts all-too-soon back to the reality. "Dean," he says near inaudibly to no one.

Sam climbs out of the shower as Clark enters the bathroom, and God, his mind's off again. There's something about Clark's half-lidded eyes, that just-been-fucked look that makes Sam want to fuck Clark again. And again. And again. Instead, Sam says, "The knobs are backwards. Hot's cold, cold's hot."

Clark nods, and Sam leaves the bathroom. He gets dressed and slips out, heading down the street to the bodega. When he comes back, he glimpses Clark through the half-open door, his reflection visible in the mirror. Sam watches Clark remove the bandage. The bullet hole's gone, skin healed, pristine as a newborn's.

Clark steps out of the bathroom, towel around his hips, hair drooping into curls that frame his face. He's equally beautiful wet, and Sam feels himself getting hard again in spite of keeping his mind where it should be: the here and now. But, he won't give in. Not this time. Not until he gets an answer or three. "Bought some beer," says Sam. "Owed you." Clark dresses. Sam tries not to watch. "Didn't have a lot of options, but -"

Clark takes the Corona and places it on the nightstand. "This'll do," says Clark, buttoning the top of his jeans.

Sam raises his beer and Clark repeats the gesture. "To new friends." The two bottles_ clink _ as Clark's connects with Sam's. "So, do you do this often?" asks Sam. "The demon thing," he says, clarifying.

"No," says Clark, swallowing. "Do you?"

"Yeah," says Sam. He takes a long pull of Corona, fills his mouth with amber liquid. "Thanks. For tonight. For everything."

"I feel like I should be thanking you," says Clark, and he smiles a Crest-white smile. The smile gives Sam pause. Finishing the beer, Clark grabs the towel, runs it through his hair a final time. "I should probably go."

"Yeah," says Sam when he means "Don't." He still has one important question for Clark. Instead of asking, he says, "My brother'll be back soon."

Sam turns the bottle up and sucks it dry.

Clark's standing by the door by the time Sam gets around to asking, "Where can I find you? You know, if something happens and I need -"

"I'm always around," says Clark. He smiles again, smile as brilliant as the demon's, and walks into the night.

Deciding, Sam leaps across the room. He pulls the door open, but Clark's gone. "Let's hope," says Sam.

**FIN **


End file.
